


Ruined

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Self-Lubrication, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 10:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13246578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis tries to correct a continued problem with their laundry.





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There are definitely positives to choosing a camper over a tent, the least of which is actually the beds. Ignis can make do on a bedroll, but washing clothes in a nearby stream is considerably more time consuming than a simple washer and drier, assuming there are even any suitable streams around. When they do finally settle into a camper at a run-down rest stop just off the road, Ignis sets to work. By the morning, everything is clean again, and his companions can wriggle back into their clothes beneath their blankets, emerging with a quick or nonexistent ‘thanks’ here and there, only to wander on outside and leave breakfast to Ignis. 

He doesn’t mind that so much. He does find cooking vaguely relaxing, especially after the more strenuous activities of their day, and it doesn’t bother him that the rest of his company just lounges back in patio chares outside, puttering their lives away on their phones. But he would be able to cook more proficiently if he were more awake, which would require more sleep the night before, which would mean less trouble in the washing department. He’s just cracked four eggs into the pan over the camper’s stove when he decides to finally _do_ something about it. It’ll be an awkward conversation to have, but it’s one that’s been a long time coming.

Leaving the eggs on a low heat—and knowing that he’ll only do so for a minute or two—Ignis steps out into the morning sun. His party is just how he left them—Noctis and Prompto bent over the small patio table in a rousing game of King’s Knight and Gladiolus reclining with his book. It might make things a little less embarrassing to ask Prompto to step away—perhaps back into the camper—but he doesn’t want to risk Prompto ruining the eggs. So he clears his throat and waits for all three of them to glance up at him.

Then he announces, “Gladio, Noct, we need to have a talk.” 

Prompto actually looks startled, clearly surprised to be exempt. Gladiolus frowns, and Noctis sighs in a bored tone, “What’ve we done now?” He sounds very much like a delinquent teenager that knows he’s about to be scolded, yet again, by his handler. 

Ignis actually pauses, then pushes his glasses higher up his nose, mainly for a stall. It takes him a second to settle on the right wording, and finally he says, “You both need to be more respectful of traveling with an omega.” 

Instantly, Prompto’s freckled cheeks are flushing pink. Noctis visibly bristles, and Gladiolus all but growls, “I _am_ respectful.”

Ignis elaborates, “Evidently not. I would like the both of you to cease working Prompto up.” Gladiolus’ eyebrows lift, and Noctis’ head tilts slightly, but Ignis isn’t falling for the innocent act. “You’re both quite old enough to know what omegas’ bodies do when stimulated, and particularly as we have long days under the hot sun without many changes of clothing available, it’s unhygienic to be running around after such secretions.”

Clearly cluing in, Gladiolus quickly stifles a snort behind his hand, but Noctis turns wide eyes to Prompto. When neither of them acknowledges his complaint, Ignis pushes, “Well?”

First, Noctis insists, “We weren’t doing that,” but then he stops short to level an accusing look at Gladiolus.

Gladiolus lifts his arms in defense and adds, “I wasn’t either.”

Given the mess of slick that always seems to stain Prompto’s jeans, Ignis isn’t inclined to believe either of them. But when a faintly distressed noise makes it out of Prompto’s pert lips, followed by a wave of guilty pheromones, Ignis turns his attention there. Prompto’s lovely face has now become beat-red, clashing brilliantly with his golden hair, and his slender form slumps back into his plastic chair. He haltingly admits, “They, um... weren’t. It’s just... Gladdy’s always running around without a shirt, and... and Noctis makes me... wet...” He finishes in all but a whisper, eyes averted, all his usual bravado inverted into thick shame. 

It makes Ignis blush in return. He hadn’t meant to embarrass their omega, just chastise his fellows alphas, as he knew that _he_ certainly wasn’t making untoward advances outside of their usual heats and ruts. Clearing his throat again, Ignis corrects, “Well... in that case, I’m afraid I must request that you work on controlling yourself.”

Prompto nods glumly. “Sorry.”

Gladiolus leans forward over the little table. He licks his lips in lewd promise and practically purrs, “Hey, if I’d known that was a problem, I would’ve offered to clean it up.” 

Prompto just groans, covering his face and sinking deeper into his chair. “You’re making it worse!”

Noctis leans over him, repeating with a wide smirk, “I make you wet?”

“S-shut up!”

Ignis severely regrets saying anything. If he’d known, he would’ve spoken to Prompto quietly in private, and maybe they could’ve worked out a plan to get him some measure of suppressants. Ignis makes a mental note to add that to the shopping list.

Then he retreats back into the relative sanity of the camper, called by their burning eggs, and leaves his boys to clean up their own messes.


End file.
